Chapter 34 #2
“Harper has excellent taste,” Sara announces, like this is breaking news, then grabs Marie’s hand. “Come dance with us! Madison and Brie are over there, and they were just saying how much they missed you—”
And just like that, Marie’s absorbed into a group of girls who’ve apparently decided she’s adorable and must be protected at all costs. She catches my eye over Sara’s shoulder and grins, this huge, delighted smile that makes her look about twelve.
I smile back, trying to ignore the weird flutter in my chest. When did I become someone who feels things about other people being happy?
“Graham!” Miles shouts over the music, pulling Caleb into one of those bro-hugs that involve more back-slapping than actual affection. “Didn’t think you’d show! Thought you’d be home color-coding your sock drawer or whatever you do for fun.”
“Wanted to get out of the house,” Caleb says, and his voice is light. Easy. Nothing like the tension I can see in his shoulders, the tightness around his eyes.
Kevin appears from the direction of the bar with a bottle of something amber and four shot glasses balanced between his fingers like he’s done this before. Which, knowing Kevin, he definitely has.
“Then you came to the right place, my man. We’ve got some serious drinking to do. Time to catch up!”
I open my mouth to object—Caleb doesn’t drink much, has this whole thing about maintaining control that borders on pathological—but he’s already reaching for a glass.
“Let’s do it,” he says.
And I watch him do something I’ve never seen before.
He doesn’t line up the shot glass with the edge of the table.
Doesn’t adjust it. Doesn’t straighten it. Doesn’t check the amount of liquid.
Just grabs it and throws it back.
He coughs, eyes watering, and immediately reaches for another.
“Caleb—” I start.
But he’s already tipping it back in two gulps.
No pattern. No counting. No control.
And that’s when I know tonight’s going to be a disaster.
An hour later, I’m trying to keep track of three people at once and failing miserably.
Marie’s still on the dance floor with her arms around Sara and Madison like they’re all best friends, singing along to some pop song I vaguely recognize.
She keeps catching my eye every few minutes, checking in without words—I’m okay, still having fun, don’t worry—and I give her a thumbs up each time, even though I’m definitely worrying.
When did I become this person? This responsible person who watches drinks and keeps track of exits and makes sure nobody gets too drunk or too handsy or too anything?
The old Harper—the Harper from four months ago—would’ve been six shots deep by now, dancing on furniture, making out with someone whose name she wouldn’t remember tomorrow. That Harper told everyone to fuck off and took care of exactly one person: herself.
This Harper is stone-cold sober, nursing the same beer she got an hour ago—one I popped the top off myself—and mentally tracking three different people like some kind of depressing chaperone.
Miles is telling some elaborate story about a summer trip to Costa Rica, hands gesturing wildly, nearly taking out someone’s drink. Kevin’s laughing so hard he’s wheezing, and Sara keeps interjecting with “that’s not what happened!” even though she wasn’t there.
It’s easy. Comfortable. The kind of friend group moment I never thought I’d have. Never thought I wanted, frankly. And I want to lose myself in it. To let the banter wash over me and laugh at Kevin’s terrible jokes and let myself just be normal for once.
But I can’t.
Because Caleb’s drunk.
Really drunk.
I’ve watched him knock back six shots in the past hour—six—like they’re water.
The careful control he wraps himself in has finally loosened.
His collar’s unbuttoned now—when did that happen? He never unbuttons his collar. Not until he’s home, in his room, following his nighttime routine.
His sleeves are uneven—the left one is rolled higher than the right. That would normally drive him crazy.
He doesn’t notice.
His hair’s messed up from him running his hands through it. Not in the careful, controlled way he usually does. Just... messed up.
His laugh has gotten louder and his movements sloppier, until his eyes have a glassy, unfocused look that means he’s way past tipsy.
He’s hanging on Kevin now, arm slung over his shoulder, saying something that’s making Kevin crack up.
And I’m trying to stay close, to keep an eye on him without being obvious about it, but it’s like trying to herd cats.
“Harper!” Marie appears at my elbow, breathless and glowing. “This is so much fun! Thank you for bringing me!”
“Having a good time?” I ask, scanning her pupils automatically. Sober. Good.
“The best time! Sara wants to do a TikTok. Is that okay? Should I do a TikTok? I’ve never done one at a party before—”
“Just don’t post anything with alcohol in the frame,” I hear myself say, and Jesus, when did I become someone’s mom?
Marie nods seriously, like I’ve imparted great wisdom, and bounces back to the dance floor.
“Having fun, charity case?”
I turn to find McKenzie behind me, red cup in hand, smile sharp as a knife. She’s wearing something designer and too tight, her makeup perfect despite the heat and humidity of too many bodies in one space.
“Loads,” I say flatly.
“I’ll pass along the compliment,” she says, taking a sip of her drink. Her eyes are scanning the room like a predator looking for prey. “Where’s your brother? Haven’t seen him glued to your hip for once.”
“He’s around.”
“Mm.” Her eyes land on something across the room, and her smile gets sharper. Dangerous. “Oh, this should be good.”
I follow her gaze, and my stomach drops.
Caleb has Marie cornered near the stairs. From here, it looks intense—his hands moving in big gestures, his face too close to hers, his voice carrying even over the music. Marie’s backed up against the railing, eyes wide.
Shit.
I start moving before I can think about it, shoving through the crowd. Someone’s drink spills, and they swear at me, but I don’t care.
But McKenzie gets there first, because of course, she does.
“Well, well,” she says, voice dripping with false sweetness as she positions herself between Caleb and Marie. “Trouble in paradise? Did the golden boy finally realize he could do better than—”
“Back off, McKenzie,” Marie says, and there’s steel in her voice I haven’t heard before. Her chin lifts, defiant. She’s gained so much confidence since I met her cowering in the courtyard at the start of the semester. “We’re just talking.”
“Oh, sweetie.” McKenzie laughs, and it’s not a nice sound. “I’m just trying to help. Someone needs to tell you that you’re punching way above your weight class with Graham here. I mean, look at you—”
“Can you not?” Caleb’s words are slurred but clear enough. He’s swaying slightly, eyes struggling to focus on McKenzie. “Can you just not be like this for five minutes?”
“Like what?” McKenzie’s smile is poisonous. “Honest?”
“No. Mean.” He says it simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
He’s swaying. Can’t stand still. His hands are moving in gestures that are too big, too loose. Nothing like his usual careful precision.
“You’re just... you’re so mean all the time. Why?”
He’s not counting words. Not measuring his response. Not calculating the social cost of what he’s saying.
Just... saying it.
This is Caleb with no systems or filters. No patterns.
No rules.
And it’s brutal to watch.
The room’s starting to notice now. Conversations are dying down, and people are turning to watch. There’s a particular charge in the air that means drama’s about to happen.
“I’m not mean,” McKenzie says, but her voice has an edge to it now. “I told you. I’m honest. There’s a difference.”
“No, you’re mean.” Caleb takes a step toward her, unsteady but determined. “And the thing is, and this is what I’ve been trying to figure out, the thing is, mean is just... it’s boring.”
McKenzie’s face flushes bright red. “Excuse me?”
“Mean is boring,” Caleb repeats, like he’s explaining a simple concept to a child. “It’s what people do when they don’t have anything else interesting about them. Like, you’re pretty and rich and popular, but what else is there? What do you actually care about? What makes you... you?”
“Caleb—” I try to grab his arm, but he’s on a roll now.
“Because from where I’m standing, you’re just... empty. You’re mean because being mean makes people pay attention to you, and if you weren’t mean, we’d all forget you existed.” He’s not yelling. His voice is almost conversational, which somehow makes it worse. “That’s kind of sad, actually.”
McKenzie’s eyes are shining now. Rage or tears, hard to tell. “How dare you—”
“I’m not trying to be mean back,” Caleb continues, like she hasn’t spoken. “I’m just saying... what do you actually like? What makes you happy? Because I’ve known you our whole lives, and I have no idea. You’re just this... void. This mean void.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” McKenzie hisses.
“Exactly.” Caleb nods, like she’s just proved his point. “Nobody does. Because there’s nothing to know. You’ve made yourself so small and empty that being cruel is the only thing left.”
People are definitely watching now. Someone’s phone is out—great, this’ll be on social media in five minutes.
“You’re drunk,” McKenzie spits.
“Yeah,” Caleb agrees easily. “But I’m not wrong. You could be, I don’t know, anything. Anyone. But you chose to be this. You chose to make Marie’s life hell for no reason except that it gave you something to do. That’s not powerful. It’s just pathetic.”
McKenzie’s face has gone from red to white. Her hands are shaking. “You think you’re so perfect, Caleb Graham. You think you’re better than everyone—”
“I don’t think I’m perfect,” Caleb interrupts, and there’s something raw in his voice now. “I’m really, really not perfect. But at least I’m trying to be a decent person. At least I care about something other than making other people feel small.”
“You—” McKenzie’s voice cracks as she lifts a shaking finger in Caleb’s face. She’s quite literally shaking with rage. “You’re going to regret this. You have no idea what I can do to you—”
“What?” Caleb laughs, and it’s bitter. “Make my life difficult? Spread rumors? Turn people against me?” He spreads his arms wide. “Do your worst. I’ve got bigger things to worry about than you.”
And something about the way he says it—so tired, so done—seems to hit McKenzie harder than anything else he’s said.
Her face crumples. For a second, she just stands there, exposed and raw, and I almost feel bad for her.
Almost.
Then she makes a sound that’s half sob, half scream, and runs for the stairs.
The crowd parts for her like water.
Caleb stands there, swaying slightly, looking at the space where she’d been. Then he turns and walks toward the front door, stumbling over someone’s foot, not looking back.
The room erupts in whispers.
I look at Marie, who’s standing there with her hands pressed to her mouth, eyes wide.
“Go,” she says, voice muffled. “I’m fine. Go get him.”
I go.
I find Caleb outside, sitting on the curb with his head in his hands.
Not sitting properly. Just collapsed there, elbows on knees, head in hands, breathing hard.
No attention to posture or thought to how he looks. No checking if his clothes are straight or his hair is neat.
Just sitting. Breathing. Breaking.
“Hey.” I sit down next to him on the cold concrete.
I can see his hands shaking. They’re not tapping. Not doing that finger pattern he does. Just shaking.
The night air is cold enough to bite, sharp enough to make my breath visible in little clouds.
The party noise is muffled out here, like we’re underwater.
“Hey.” I sit down next to him on the cold concrete. “That was... something.”
“I fucked up.” His voice is thick, choked. “I fucked up, didn’t I?”
“Little bit, yeah. She deserved it, though.”
“Probably.”
“But you’re gonna feel like shit about it tomorrow.”
He laughs, but it sounds more like a sob. “I feel like shit now.”
“I know.”
We sit there in silence for a moment. Somewhere down the street, a dog barks. A car drives past, bass thumping.
“I can’t stop thinking about her,” he says finally, so quiet I almost don’t hear him. “Mom. About what happens if—”
“Don’t.” I put my hand on his back, feel the tension in his spine. “Don’t go there.”
“But what if—”
“Caleb.” I make him look at me, gently turning his face toward mine.
His eyes are red-rimmed and glassy, and he looks so young it breaks my heart.
“One crisis at a time, okay? Right now, we’re dealing with you being drunk off your ass at Tyler Morrison’s party.
Tomorrow we can deal with everything else. ”
“Everything else,” he repeats, and laughs again, hollow and broken. “Yeah. Everything else.”
Z appears from nowhere, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, grinning like the cat that got the cream. “We leaving? Because I’ve probably got over three hundred dollars worth of liquor in here and I’d like to get gone before anyone notices.”
“We’re leaving,” I confirm, hauling Caleb to his feet. He’s heavier than he looks, or maybe I’m just tired. “You’re driving.”
Caleb hands the keys over without argument, which tells me exactly how drunk he is. The Caleb I know would rather walk home than let Z drive his car.
Marie joins us a minute later, looking shaken but okay. “McKenzie’s crying in the bathroom. Like, full meltdown crying. Everyone’s just standing around, not sure what to do.”
“Good,” Z says cheerfully, hefting his bag higher on his shoulder.
“Z,” I warn.
“What? I’ve heard you talk about that bitch. Sounds like she’s had it coming for years. About time someone told her the truth.”
He’s not wrong, but I still feel a twist of guilt.
“Who the fuck made my girlfriend cry?” comes a roar from behind us inside the house. “I’ll smash your teeth out!”
“Oh shit,” Z says, hiking his duffel higher on his shoulder. “Run!”